They parcel her in chunks, blue hands unravelling
pink ropes, red rooms. They remind her
of childhood, squeezing the boysenberries
from her mother’s garden, the purple
staining her palms. She sees herself
thumping in silver bowls. She’s told her womb
is a liability, marred by past growths, past carvings.
She waits behind the curtain for her prize, her
creation—hears metal to skin, a gentle stitching.
She hears a baby’s cry, her chest swelling
in anticipation as they clean the redness off her.
CESAREAN by Babette Cieskowski

Photo used under CC.


About Author


Born in Oahu, Hawaii, Babette Cieskowski has lived in southern Florida, Kitzingen, Germany and Central Texas. She currently lives in Columbus, Ohio. Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Compose, Qu, the minnesota review, Day One, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, The Laurel Review, Frontier Poetry, Crab Orchard Review and others.

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